Echoes of Hanoi
by iamCT2.0
Summary: A twenty year old plan for revenge is put into action, one that could potentially tip the balance of power in Roanapaur forever


Felipe could hear the staccato of a small firefight somewhere as he leaned out the window. The sound of gunfire is one all too familiar to the streets of Roanapur. One could even go so far as to say its absence would be far more ominous than its presence. He sighed and took a drag on his cigarette. Only 4 months in this shithole and he was as accustomed to the sounds of violence as he was to the setting of the sun. The city seemed to revolve around killing. Apparently even the local church sold guns. _If there is a God, _he thought,_ he does not exist in Roanapur_.

"Yo Felipe," called a voice from the other room. "Hurry up with your cig, _amigo,_ we gotta pack all this shit up for tomorrow morning."

He once again became aware of the pungent smell of marijuana. _Fucking hell. _Taking a final, deep drag, Felipe tossed the half-finished cigarette out the window and turned towards the doorway.

"Yeah, just finished. I'll be right there Luis." He walked to the other room.

As Felipe walked into the area used to pack and store drugs, he could see his partner packing bricks of weed and cocaine on the plastic table they had set up. Two armed guards sat at a smaller table near the door at the opposite end of the storage room, playing cards. Their AK-47s were propped up against the wall.

_Well, if there's one advantage in working for the Cartel, it's that they sure know how to protect their own. So long as they do as the__y're__ told..._

"Stop fucking daydreaming Felipe," grunted Luis. "We still got a few dozen more kilos to pack, and I want to get at least a bit of sleep tonight."

Felipe sighed and got to work packing. It was monotonous work, being a drug runner in Roanapur, and dangerous. So dangerous, in fact, that the Cartel was offering a bonus and a chance to leave the world of crime forever to those who'd spend just six months of work in the area. It seemed too good to be true, but still...

_Just two more months, and I'll have enough money saved up to go back to Colombia and rent a nice apartment in downtown Bogota. Maybe then Claudia and I could finally start a family... _

He was interrupted by the loud _CRACK _of a high-powered rifle. Luis jumped and almost dropped the brick of cocaine he was carrying to the table. The two guards instinctively reached for their Kalashnikovs.

"The fighting must have moved closer," one of them muttered.

The other swore under his breath. "Damn gutter rats. They know this is our turf, yet they still bring their petty arguments here."

"I'll go make sure Sebastian hasn't taken a nap at the front door, and we'll go pop a few rounds at the cocksuckers. Hopefully they'll get the message." One of the guards grabbed his automatic rifle and headed out the door, closing it as he left. Felipe could hear the creak of the staircase as the guard descended.

He and Luis got back to work, as the other guard discreetly peeked at his comrade's card hand. After a few minutes, they could hear the rattle of AKs, before gunshots in the distance begin to die down.

"Well that takes care of that," snorted the remaining guard, as he lazily put down his weapon.

Suddenly, they heard two shots. _BANG BANG_. It was close to their safehouse. The guard snapped to attention and grabbed his gun. Things were quiet for what seemed like an eternity, before they could hear the creaking of someone ascending the staircase. The guard narrowed his eyes and shouldered his AK, aiming it at the entrance to the storage room. The sound of footsteps grew louder and louder, until it was right in front of the door.

Slowly, ominously, the door opened.

The guard braced himself to fire his weapon at whatever was on the other side.

Finally, the door swung completely open. There stood the other guard.

"Oh, it's just you," said the first guard, relaxing. Felipe noticed he had been holding his breath.

"_Madre,_ you scared the shit out of me," he said, exhaling. "Who the fuck was shooting right outside our..." His voice petered off as he got a good look at the returning guard. There was a blossom of red in the middle of his chest. The man stumbled forward and fell, face first, to the floor, revealing a man in a grey hoodie standing behind him, pistol raised.

The remaining guard quickly began to bring his weapon to bear.

"You fucking-" he began,

_BANG_

The unknown assailant fired. The round blew a hole through the forehead of the guard before he could even think of firing his assault rifle. Bits of bone and brain splattered over a pile of cocaine, staining the white powder red.

Luis screamed and tried to make a break for the other doorway.

_BANG BANG._ He slumped over the table, knocking it over. Drugs spilled all over the floor, mixing with the blood seeping from the two dead men.

Felipe was frozen with fear. The attacker entered the room.

"P-p-please," stammered Felipe. He felt something warm and wet between his legs. "Please, I'm not with the Cartel; I'm just here for a few months. I just want to go home."

Now that the unknown man had fully entered the room, Felipe got a better look at him. An older caucasian man, probably early to mid 40s. It was hard to tell in the relatively dark room, but Felipe guessed that the man's short hair was brown. He was reasonably tall, and had an average build.

"C'mon man, please! I don't want no trouble!"

The man said nothing. He took a cigarette out of his pocket and placed it in his mouth, lighting it and taking a deep drag.

Felipe tensed up. He got ready to make a break for it. Suddenly, the man spoke.

"How old are you, son." His voice was soft, and reassuring.

An American. What was an American doing in Roanapur?

"Nineteen," stammered Felipe. "I'm nineteen."

The American considered that for a moment. Then, he motioned to one of the chairs the guards had used. It had been knocked down in the commotion.

"Take a seat son. I just want to ask you a couple questions, and I'll be on my way."

Felipe nodded and sat down. The man took another cigarette from his pocket and offered it to him. He took it, lighting it with his own lighter.

"This should only take a minute," the American rummaged in his pocket and took out a slip of paper. "Do you know where I could find the Xa hoi cua nguoi chet? Any information would be welcome."

"P-pardon?"

"Xa hoi cua nguoi chet. Heard of it?"

Felipe thought for a moment, then shook his head. "N-no... no. Never heard of it."

The man sighed. "I guess that's to be expected. Very well," He once again searched through his pocket. This time he brought out a small, black and white photo. "Do you recognize this man?"

It was an older asian man, looked to be in his 60s. He wore some sort of military uniform, with several medals pinned to his chest.

Felipe considered the photo. "I don't think so."

The man took another deep drag from his cigarette. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Never seen him."

"That's a shame. I have no further questions."

"Does this mean I can go?" asked Felipe hopefully.

The man glanced at the door. "Yeah. Get out of here."

A wave of relief washed over Felipe as he got up and walked toward the exit. He felt lucky to be alive. As soon as he left the room he practically skipped down the stairway leading to the streets of Roanapur. The brightness of the streetlights greeted him as he opened the door. There was a cold midnight breeze, a stark contrast to the blazing heat of daytime.

Felipe took a step forward.

And another.

And another.

_Why is everything so slow...?_

It was then that he noticed something cold and sharp slide out of his back. Felipe stumbled forward, blood staining the asphalt of Roanapur's roads. He felt an arm grab him by his chest, and the knife, now wet with his blood, pressed against his Adam's apple.

"If it's some comfort, this really is nothing personal." The American's breath smelled of cheap liquor and cigarettes. Felipe felt a sharp pain across his throat, and he fell.

He could see his blood pooling in the cracks and crevasses of the city's poorly maintained streets. He tried to yell for help, but blood filled his mouth and all that came out was a desperate gurgle.

His last thought was of home.

* * *

"It's been what, a year and a half now? If you two don't hurry up and fuck, otherwise someone's gonna beat you to it."

Revy's trigger finger instinctively twitched. Once again, she found herself inside the chapel of the Rip-Off Church, drinking. "Was there a reason you called me here, Eda? Or are you just trying to fucking piss me off?"

The nun laughed. "No need to get so touchy, Revy. Actually, as much as I love busting your nuts, I did have something I wanted to talk about," Her tone grew serious. "The Cartel got hit again. A drughouse, 5 dead. No survivors."

"And why should I give a fuck what happens to the Cartel?" This was the third attack this week, but Revy really could not care less.

Eda grinned. "I really don't care either, but the Cartel does. Twenty grand to see this poor asswipe dead."

Revy raised an eyebrow. "Twenty grand, eh?" She took a cigarette and lit it. "And we know it's just one guy? Not some other gang?"

_Or a pair of fucked-up twins, _she thought to herself, remembering the last time Eda had approached her with a similar offer. _That was a fucking shitstorm._

Eda seemed to get her meaning. She retrieved a photo from inside her nun habit. "Someone managed to snap a picture of the guy and tried to sell it to the Cartel," She snorted. "Well the Cartel has the photo all right, and Roanapaur is one photographer shorter."

"And how did you get a copy?" asked Revy, as she examined the picture. It wasn't a good shot of his face, but it gave a general idea of what the man looked like.

Eda leaned back in her chair, taking a gulp of liquor. "Does it matter? Point is it's easy money. The Cartel doesn't mind spending money to make a statement. Those fuckers will pay a couple grand to see a rude waiter dead if it meant keeping up their image."

Revy grinned. It had been almost a month since anything exciting had happened. "Alright. Let's waste the fucker."

"That's what I like to hear," Eda glanced at the empty bottles strewn about on the table. "But first let's clear this shit up, or Yolanda will take a dump on my life."

Revy was already walking out the door. "Your problem, not mine. Meet me at the Yellowflag tonight, we'll talk strategy."

Eda glanced at the mess, then at the silhouette of Revy as she left the chapel.

"You bitch..." she grumbled, picking a pair of empty bottles up from the floor.

* * *

"Revy," the annoyed baritone of Dutch was unmistakeable. "Where the hell have you been? I told you we had a job today."

"Sorry Dutch, something came up this morning," she replied, puffing a cloud of smoke from a freshly lit cigarette. "I'll make it up to you with my share of twenty grand."

Dutch groaned. "Don't tell me Eda roped you into another manhunt, did she. We all know how last time went."

"Hey, this time it's easy money. We know it's just one guy, not a group. And definitely not a pair of crazy-ass twins straight outta the fuckin' _Shining._" She cocked one of her custom Beretta M92s, aiming it at one of the random pedestrians going about their business on the street. "Bang."

Dutch's jaw twitched in impatience. "Rock, is the package ready?"

The former Japanese businessman walked in carrying a clipboard. He was wearing his dress shirt and tie, as always, much to Revy's chagrin. "Yeah, it's in the other room."

"Good," said Dutch, lighting a cigarette of his own. "This is a cut and dry job. Deliver the package to the _Merseille_, and get the fuck home. I'm in the mood to hit up the Yellowflag tonight."

Revy grinned. "I'm all for it. Besides, I was supposed to meet Eda there tonight anyways."

Rock glanced around the room. "Where's Benny?"

"He's at the Lagoon already. C'mon, let's get going. We're gonna be late."

* * *

User [Corsair] has entered chat [13:22:23]

User [Lifeline] has entered chat [13:22:23]

[Corsair]: the dead always rest [13:22:32]

[Lifeline]: except at the hilton [13:22:42]

[Corsair]: are we secure [13:22:53]

[Lifeline]: as secure as can be [13:23:04]

[Lifeline]: have you found anything [13:23:13]

[Corsair]: no [13:23:16]

[Corsair]: i have to dig deeper [13:23:28]

[Lifeline]: cartel has a price on you [13:23:44]

[Lifeline]: twenty thousand [13:23:49]

[Corsair]: not surprised [13:24:09]

[Lifeline]: bounty hunters will likely start to gun for you [13:24:37]

[Corsair]: most bounty hunters are amateurs [13:24:56]

[Corsair]: not too worried [13:25:02]

[Lifeline]: i have inside information indicating that they tend to [13:25:18]

[Lifeline]: gather at a bar called the yellowflag [13:25:27]

[Corsair]: good to know [13:25:38]

[Corsair]: i might just have to discourage them [13:25:48]

[Lifeline]: watch your back [13:26:03]

[Lifeline]: a few are nasty pieces of work [13:26:15]

[Lifeline]: if you die i dont want any of this coming back to me [13:26:22]

[Corsair]: you worry too much [13:26:40]

[Corsair]: keep me updated on any developments [13:26:57]

User [Corsair] has exited chat [13:26:59]

User [Lifeline] has exited chat [13:27:03]

* * *

**Hey guys.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm relatively new to writing but I hope to improve and evolve my own writing style as I continue with this story. If you have any advice, praise, criticism, or just feedback in general, feel free to give it to me via any medium you deem appropriate. I promise, I won't get offended. I really hope you enjoyed the introduction to this fic, as I have some pretty interesting and cool ideas I want to implement throughout it. I really hope to be in this for the long haul, and I expect to be considering this is my only creative outlet as a bored college student. Anyways, I can't thank you enough for giving this a shot and this should be an interesting ride! **

**EDIT: Thanks unkeptsecret for pointing out my mistake with dutch's character, I changed it immediately.**


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